This piece first appeared in The Alternative on November 23rd, in the event of the Banglore Queer Pride, 2012.
 |
| Pic by Amar Mitra |
When I think of a pride walk I’m reminded of throngs of
people oozing with excitement; myriad bright colours flashing in celebration;
decibels of affirmation chanting a tune; the warm smell of hard work and above
all the electricity racing through almost every person radiating the sheen of a
collectively individual pride. The very
thought of walking through a street, along with a group of individuals with
banners affirming Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Intersex, Asexual,
Queer, Hijra, Kothi identity sends a trail of goose bumps coursing through my
limbs.
Whenever we discuss about pride celebrations, I’m often
asked why queer people have to wear their sexuality on their sleeves, very
literally on their clothes or bodies. There are some, most of whom are queer
themselves, who dismiss pride celebrations as something unnecessary or an
attention grabbing stunt. The pride is an acknowledgement that our lives are
lived differently; there isn’t a single magic marriage or love formula that
fits all. For most people, a religious identity, class or caste identity is
something that we’ve been clothed with at about the same moment the first piece
of cloth covers the nakedness of our bodies. Yet that’s not the case with our
sexual identities. Our sexuality evolves as we grow as individuals. Our
sexuality is our capacity of warmth, desire, pleasure, vulnerability and erotic
possibilities. Its relational nature of ourselves with others leaves it open to
understanding and interpretation.
For those of us who affirm and assert a different gender and
sexuality, contrary to the ones our families or society has ascribed for us, it
takes a lot of grit to takes one’s stand. There are a number who suffocate in
the silence of their own tight-lipped closets for years, if not their entire
life. Hiding the truth about oneself and pretending to be what one is not is
akin to a flower that has bloomed, when in fact it should have remained a bud
forever.
The fiercest opposition comes from our own families. Often
the voices of sexual affirmation are subdued and, at times, silenced under the
gaze of decency or religious decorum. And, sadly, the price that we
collectively pay as a society is rather costly. Some end up marrying spouses
who continue to have same sex relations after marriage, some divorce, some
commit suicide, some join the religious order, some languish in silence and
some sacrifice their entire happiness by marrying a partner of their parent’s
choice. Little do we realize that each time we dismiss a sexually different voice
in our society, we inadvertently tighten the noose around a loved one’s neck,
coaxing one to either kill oneself or languish in misery.
 |
| Pic by Amar Mitra |
The pride means different things to different people. For
some it’s a manifestation of rage, as much as pride. For some it’s a plea to
their loved ones for acceptance, for others a defiance. For some it’s a coming
to terms with themselves, for others it’s a hope that soon they’ll be able to
walk without a mask. For some it’s a fellowship of bonding among people they
are comfortable with, for others it’s about reaching out to others in support. And,
yet for some it’s a political act of asking the government to consider their
rights as citizens and end discrimination against them. Each person who walks
the pride challenges another to live more authentically and freely.
If I consider my own life and family, I find myself in a
rather peculiar family. A couple of
years ago, I discovered that my dad’s elder brother was homosexual, months
after his death, through his vast collection of novels that were gifted to him
by an Indian Catholic priest, who would stay at my uncle’s place for a couple
of days each time he visited Bombay. When I first
chanced upon this discovery, I was shocked, thrilled and angry. I was shocked
by the coincidence of having a queer uncle in the family and the possibility of
having inherited the ‘gay gene.’ I was angry because he took his secret to his
grave and his siblings who discovered his secret only after his death,
continued to keep it, by scribbling off his name on all the contentious novels.
Above all, I was thrilled that through a serendipitous flow of events, I
managed to possess some of those novels. What I admired about my uncle was that
he chose to be a bachelor all his life. Next was my own youngest sibling, who
breathed her soul into the water, depressed by the fact that she couldn’t
change herself and torn by the anguish of religious guilt. It was only after
her death, that I realized I had to summon the courage to affirm my own
difference, the fact that I am gay. Each time I walk the pride, I walk for the
dead, for those who languished with their darkest secret, for those who ended
their own life, for those who were bullied, tortured, dehumanized or killed for
their difference. And, as much as I walk
for them, I also walk for the living, believing that the truth is what shall
set us free and hoping that all shall be well.
No comments:
Post a Comment